


I'll Do What's Right With A Fiery Passion

by GasterFan5



Series: Gravity Falls [14]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Concerned Ford, Depression (mentions), Fire, Gambling, Gen, Happy Ending, Homelessness, Poverty, Sad, Stangst, Stanuary Week 3, lotta fire, mullet stan, powers, stanley needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:13:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22306264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GasterFan5/pseuds/GasterFan5
Summary: It's Stanuary week three: AUs. Unfortunately, I'm not really experienced with this, so I chose to write about something else. Sorry if that's disappointing ^^'~~It was never hard to win at gambling. So it isn't surprising that, when a man walks in and bets a small box, Stan wins. The only problem is it gives him new powers, and, in his frightened state, he calls Ford.Oh, and he also manages to burn someone. And freak out. And everything.
Series: Gravity Falls [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1235264
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54
Collections: Stanuary





	I'll Do What's Right With A Fiery Passion

It was never hard for Stanley to win at gambling. Sure, the nights were black and cold outside, but in the casino…the air was warm, everything was brightly lit, and everyone there was the slightest bit tipsy. Everything was so much fun here.

Which is why Stanley found himself walking out of the snow and into a small building. There were a few people at a table, and although he didn’t know them they greeted him politely. He grinned and sat down next to the gang and joined in.

Soon enough, Stanley was winning the majority of the money. One man at the table, who hadn’t bet much yet, pushed a small black box out into the table. He seemed to know that he wasn’t going to win–in fact, it seemed like that was his goal. He was dying to get rid of this thing. That scared Stanley a bit, but he still played. Perhaps it was a check.

He easily won the game, like normal. “A’ight, I’mma head out. You guys are the best!” he said, smiling and joking before he bagged up his prizes and left. They seemed to be annoyed, to say the least, that he had won everything.

Which is why he quickly walked to his car and checked behind him multiple times to ensure they weren’t following him. Eventually, he arrived, and he closed and locked his car doors before he checked his loot. None of it was anything special, and he settled the bag beside him in the next seat. Besides…

He stared at the black box for a moment. Something told him to drive a little ways away before he opened it, in case it was a bomb or the like–because he wouldn’t want to drag people down with his own stupidity.

After a few miles, he pulled his car into the grass and opened the box. There was…nothing in it. He felt a sinking feeling of disappointment in his chest. This was supposed to make him rich…Suddenly, he felt his conscience start to fade and he passed out.

. . .

Stanley woke up feeling different. Not only was it warmer, but…he could smell smoke. Wait, what?!

He woke up, now, eyes wide in pure panic, but he found nothing. That was probably even weirder than he felt right now. After a moment he realized _he_ smelled like smoke, and he was radiating some kind of heat he didn’t have.

He shrugged it off and started driving to the next town over. Once there, he parked his car and trudged over through the snow to reach a small payphone. When he looked back, he saw all the snow had melted beneath his feet, but he shrugged it off and gave Ford a ring.

“Hello?”

Silence. His insides started to churn. Panic seized him and he slammed the phone back down. He decided to go get some takeout from McDonalds. After paying he opened the bag. The smell of greasy food made him hungry. He couldn’t wait to get back to his car and eat it all. Before he reached his car, though, he heard someone whispering in the darkness. Although he knew it was a bad idea, he couldn’t help but be dragged closer. There were people in this world that couldn’t fend for themselves. He knew because he used to be one of these people.

He turned the corner to an alleyway and found a frightened kid, cowering at the end of the alley. They were looking up into the eyes of a stranger, who was holding a knife in one of his hands. Just as the man was about to start his next line, Stan came out of the darkness.

“Hey, wait a second! You can’t just…do that.” he said awkwardly. They both turned their attention to him. His anger was burning and he felt so alive.

“Oh? What do you think you’re gonna do?” the criminal asked, smiling. Teasing him. And Stan, instead of feeling afraid, or standing there, lunged at the man–who dodged, and he found himself barely missing the kid and hitting into the wall. He turned, saw the stranger grab the child by the wrist. And he. Saw. **Red**. His eyes began to burn and he clenched his fists in anger and he felt something, something he’d never felt before.

The world began to spin, Stanley couldn’t focus anymore, everything was so strange now…And the criminal dropped the kid in pure shock. The small kid backed away into Stanley, and he stepped around the child and protected him. “Stay behind me,” he growled. Fire, literal fire, came from his hands. He didn’t notice, though, and swayed his hands in the air drunkenly.

_Fwoosh!_

Oh, now he saw it. Now that the other man’s hoodie was on fire. He saw him run away, but couldn’t process it. “That was so cool!” Stan spun around to see the little kid and pretended this was perfectly normal.

“Thanks, kid. It’s just a natural ability of mine I totally knew I had,” he said, trailing off at the end. Yep! The youngster hugged him, and then a mother came out of the McDonalds and called her son’s name. “S’at your mom?” he asked. A nod.

He walked the kid over with a small smile before turning around to go back to his car. He could hear the two of them talking, but he didn’t let it get under his skin. Once at his car, he immediately opened up the mirror and looked at himself. He didn’t feel sick, or anything, so what…the hell just happened?!

He took a deep breath in, and a deep, long breath out. Another long breath in…and he yelled at the top of his lungs.

. . .

After a few minutes, Stanley found himself calming down. Well, not entirely–he could still smell the distant smoke and burnt cloth–but calm enough that he was able to get out of his car and access the payphone outside of McDonalds.

Riinng. Riiiing.

“Hello. Stanford Pines speaking.”

He was silent for a moment, and his breath hitched. Oh, god, what was he supposed to say?

“Look…I don’t know if you’re a person or not, but I’m going to block calls from strangers if you don’t say anything.”

“I—wait!” Stanley said just as Ford was about to hang up. He facepalmed, cursing himself. God, what was he thinking? “I…I really need you to explain something to me.”

Ford quirked a brow before realizing he was on a phone. “Ah, uh, what is it?”

“I was fighting someone—” he could hear the wince from Ford and he rolled his eyes. “That’s not it. I was fighting someone, and, and all of a sudden…fire shoots from my hands?” he questioned. He still wasn’t able to believe it himself. Silence passed between them for a moment.

“Weird…WEIRD! Tell me where you are right now. Oh, and I suppose what your name is.”

Oh. So he couldn’t tell. Figures. His voice was shaky and faint right now, almost as weak as he felt currently. Plus, they hadn’t talked in 15 years. “I don’t think that’s–” a loud bang could be heard in the distance. “—a good idea.”

“Nonsense! I’ve seen weird things plenty. I’d like to investigate further your area.”

And Stan told him the name of the casino he found the box in.

. . .

Ford drove, taking breaks each night so he wouldn’t be completely exhausted by the time he arrived at the city. It had been a few days, now, and he reread the note he hastily wrote for himself before looking back up. This guy gave him a casino address?

He furrowed his brows. Had he been tricked? Before he could really think too deeply, he spotted a man loitering around the entrance in a red hoodie. Something told him it was the man he was looking for. So, he parked across the street and walked over. The man looked up for a second before realizing who it was and looked back down, clearly distressed.

Ford could kind of understand; people, especially strangers, were quite frightening. “Hey! You were the one who called me. How did you get my number anyway…?” Ford started with, greeting the man half-politely. “Hello? Are you even going to look up?” he started getting a little annoyed. He didn’t drive here for nothing.

“perdón…” he mumbled. Before realizing he was speaking in Spanish. “S-sorry..” he corrected. He carefully lifted his bloody face to meet his brother’s stern gaze. It immediately changed–from anger, to pain, to sympathy, to concern.

“Is that–Stanley?” he asked, looking him in the eyes. God, he looked awful. He clearly hadn’t slept in a while–nor showered, ick!–and he had a mean black eye that hadn’t been taken care of. His hair went wild, and the long mullet draped down past his shoulders. He had a dead look in his eyes, and he was ready to kill.

“Yeah…look, can we just–”

Ford instantly slapped him across the face, his reason for appearing long forgotten. “Why wouldn’t you ever call me?! And if you did, why didn’t you answer?! I-I thought you…you…” Stan, instead of punching him, gave him a hurt look.

“I’m sorry, Sixer…it’s just…” he trailed off. They gave a small hug as their reunion. Stan coughed, pointing to the alley beside the casino and walked in, Ford getting the hint and trailing behind him. Eventually, they stopped.

“I guess I’m supposed to…do that weird fire thing again?”

Ford nodded. He tried a few things–moving his hands, concentrating, etc–but none of them worked. “Man, I knew I shouldn’t have taken those pills..” he muttered. Because what else would it have been but a hallucination? With a frustrated sigh, he looked back at Ford.

“Wait, you’re telling me you can’t do it??”

“N-n–it worked last time!”

“Oh, so I came all this way for nothing. Just what I’d expect from you..”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve wasted my time here!” Ford said with a small huff of annoyance. He turned on his heels and started walking away. He could hear a choked sob from behind him.

Everything was always Stan’s fault, huh? And now, because he was being so _stupid_ Ford was never going to trust him. And that meant he’d never be able to go home, never do any of the things his young, determined self had hoped and dreamed for. And with a moment of blazing anger, the fire shot down the alleyway and around him, just like last time. His hoodie caught a small flame and started to burn.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault your lazy ass never came to visit?! When did you care?! _When_ did you _care_ , Ford?!”

Ford turned, then quickly ducked a firey blast from Stan. So, then, it had worked. He smiled awkwardly. “I’ve missed you, you know. I never visited, for I never caught your address. And…I’ve been busy. I’m sorry.”

Stanley froze. An apology? Ford never apologized. Well, nobody had a habit of apologizing, true–everyone seemed to blame the other before themselves, he learned–but Ford had never spoken an apology to anyone since childhood. He always thought he was right. And now…? Stan kept a moment of silence before the fire faded.

“Shit, S-sixer…” tears brimmed in his eyes and he gave him a hug. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m kind of tired; maybe we can go and sleep at your place for the night?”

Stanley was going to protest, and he tried, but Ford had nowhere to go…so instead he gave in and Ford drove him there.

“Take a right. Left…no, the other way.”

It took a little while longer than anticipated, but eventually, they arrived in a run-down parking lot a block or two away.

“Here we are!” Stan said with a grin, pretending like it was amazing and grand and just so magical. He walked over to his car and Ford’s heart dropped. The dirty, unwashed clothes, the poor taste in fashion, the injuries…He should’ve known by now.

Ford walked over to the car and Stan opened the passenger door. “If you lean the seat back far enough it feels like you’re laying down. Sometimes.”

He moved some stuff off the seat, brushing away blunt razors and a coffee cup and a bag with god-knows-what in it. Ford sat down uncertainly, and Stan in the other seat, and they both lowered the seats and Stan stared up at the sky. He was clearly uncertain at this point. Ford didn’t mention any of it and went to sleep.

. . .

Two in the morning. It wasn’t even close to the time Ford would typically wake, but he did, and he saw Stan sitting fully upright, contemplating something. His eyes were filled with tears and he looked out the window.

“Stan?”

His breathing hitched, and he wiped his face on his shirt before turning to Ford. “Hey. You’re up early.”

“I could say the same thing.”

Stan sighed. “It’s just…everything.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have called you. I’m sorry…”

“What??” Ford pushed his seat upright to look into Stan’s eyes. “This has been one of the best days of my life. Or, yesterday was. Stan, I’ve missed you so much…I wouldn’t trade getting you back for anything.”

They hugged, and Ford pulled away to ask a simple question with a complicated answer. “Care to tell me why you’re living in your car?”

“Ain’t got no-where to go…” he said, sighing.

Ford shook his head, a soft disagreeing stance. “You could’ve visited me.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted me around…I was a mess,” he said. His eyes were stained with tears, and he smiled sadly.

“But I would’ve. And I still do…”

Stan turned.

“Can’t you just…come back?”

“It’s not…that simple…”

“But why not?” Ford questioned, tilting his head. “We could start living together, you could do small work around the house, we could all get along again, and, and–”

“Because. There’s stuff I have left here…everywhere…that will follow me forever,” Stan said, looking down at his lap. “Besides, wherever you live, I’m probably banned.”

Ford looked at his sad smile and smiled himself. “Hey, whatever it is, I’m sure we can figure something out. I don’t care if some guy wants to kill you, or, or you burn my house down. I want to be with you, Stan, like we were.”

He sniffled, taking his gaze back to Ford. “Even if the mafia starts coming for me again?”

“Anything,” he repeated, smiling. “Wait what–”

. . .

“Hey, you’re not driving my car, Ford,” Stan said, attempting to read the menu. Both of them were hungry, so Ford went into a restaurant for breakfast. Stan squinted, trying to see the blurry letters and focus on Ford’s words at the same time.

“But you’re clearly–”

“I’ve driven hours before, I can do it again,” he said, glaring up at Ford challengingly. Ford had his car, too, but Stan somehow managed to get material and hooked up the cars so they could ride there together. Unsurprisingly, Stan’s car was being dragged in the back, for it was lighter and older.

“You don’t even know how to get there,” he countered, crossing his arms.

“But you’ll tell me,” Stan said, smirking. Ford sighed, pushing his glasses up his face before examining his menu.

“What do you want, anyway?” he asked, looking up from his menu to Stan. It was at this point that Ford saw the concentration written on his face.

“Uh…uhm. An omelet?”

Ford looked down at his menu. “Stan that’s not even on here.”

“Uh. I’ll just get whatever you get,” he said, smiling awkwardly.

“Stan. Can you even read the menu?” Ford asked, squinting and looking at him in the eyes.

“Of course I can!”

“Then tell me what this says,” Ford said, pointing to a random dish in bigger, bold letters.

Stan looked at it for a moment, trying to make out what it said. After a long pause, he gave in. “Okay, fine, so I can’t read it.” Ford rolled his eyes but smirked confidently.

When the waiter came, he simply said two orders of omelets, which got Stan seriously annoyed by the fact he’d been tricked. After the food arrived, Ford noticed how Stan ate: like an animal that wasn’t sure if this would be its last meal or not. It concerned him, but he kept quiet.

. . .

They were driving. Well, no, Stanley was driving and Ford was giving him the directions. Stan looked exhausted, and he would sometimes miss his turn at a four-way stop, but he was always going the right way and never managed to miss a turn.

It had been several hours, and Ford said, “Take a right here,” before the familiar sign welcoming them to Gravity Falls showed up. It was snowing, and the ground was littered with the stuff. They finally pulled into his driveway, and Stan parked the car beside the house before they both got out.

“I’m gonna…grab something,” Stan said, climbing into his car and fetching a small bag of his belongings. Ford led him into his house and showed him his room.

“I have a spare, so…you can sleep in here.”

Stan nodded, and when Ford retired to his bed–it was quite late, now,–he walked into the bathroom connected and took a shower. Once he was finally clean, he changed into his grimy clothing and retrieved a bottle of pills from his bag. He swallowed one, took some non-washable things out, and dumped the remainder of his belongings into the washing machine, with his bag following.

His hair was soaking, and so he used his newly-acquired fire powers to dry it. He recalled why Ford showed up in the first place, wondering what exactly that was about. He never did figure any of that stuff out. Guilt shone across his face as Stan realized his poor habits probably got Ford concerned enough to forget about the weirdness.

Oh well, too late for that now.

. . .

“That’s probably the dumbest part I’ve seen yet,” Stan said, booing the horror movie Ford put on and throwing popcorn at the screen.

“I know! Why would you decide to hide instead of run when there’s a perfectly welcoming car outside?” Ford asked, frustrated.

Even though the movie definitely sucked, Stan couldn’t help but smile when they ranted. Everything was just like it used to be. Like he didn’t screw up. Everything was weird, but in a good way. And he teared up a little at that.


End file.
